


waiting game

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, Prison AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: Emori kicked her. "You liar.""I don't know what you mean." Clarke replied honestly.Emori sat down cross legged beside her. "Raven wouldn't talk to me about you and lover boy—"Clarke winced. "Don't call him that.""—But Lexa happily obliged. You guys have some weird foreplay shit going on. Answer me this, is saving each other's asses a kink?"Or the one where they meet in prison





	1. Clarke

**Author's Note:**

> i know fuckall about prison

_What if I never even see you cuz we're both on a stage_  
_Don't tell me listen to your song because it isn't the same_  
_I don't wanna say your love is a waiting game_

_\---_

She wasn't a risk taker. She didn't like to do things in the spur of a moment. She liked things to be planned, thought and timed out. She had lists and schedules and planners; everything to make her life easier.

But this wasn't planned or thought out. It was throwing yourself off a cliff and hoping to suddenly grow wings.

She hoped it'd be worth it.

He grabbed her sleeve and looked at her with pleading eyes. "Clarke, come on. _Please_!"

She wrenched her arm away and talked calmly. "I can't do anything with manners. Pay up, or get a softer dealer." She had had it up to here with people expecting her to give handouts. This wasn't a fucking charity.

He screwed up his nose and huffed, stomping to his car. She smiled sweetly as he tore out of the alley. She noticed a cop car parked across the street, and panic reared up inside her. She swallowed it and schooled her features into the bored expression she hoped looked normal. She hunched against the cold and headed to her apartment.

She really hadn't wanted to start dealing. Who ever wants to commit a felony? She was short on cash, and her paintings weren't bringing in the money she needed for rent. Her mom had officially cut her off, and she was desperate. Wick, a grimy and slimy mechanic, had offered to sell to her once. She figured she'd sell a few times and be done, do it just enough so she could get back on her feet.

Two years later, and she was very comfortable with her bank account and its contents. But she hadn't stopped her way of income. Why? She wished she knew.

Finn was sitting on the couch when she got home, and he shouted for her to come sit beside him.

She obliged. "What's up?"

"I haven't seen my girlfriend in days. I missed you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she did her best not to squirm away. They hadn't talked about their status, and Finn continued to ignore her wishes that they stay unofficial.

"Sorry, I've been busy." She kissed the hand resting on her shoulder and ducked out from under his arm. She needed a drink. Maybe ten.

"Doing what?"

She took a sip of bourbon and sighed contently. "What?"

"You said you've been busy. Doing what?" He turned so he was looking at her straight on. She wanted to slap the condescending look off his self righteous little face. He knew right well what she had been doing. Paying for the roof over his head and the fruit gummy snacks that he still ate.

"Selling my paintings, ignoring my mom. The norm." Even if it was a lie, which it wasn't, he didn't need to be up in her business about how she spent her time.

He hummed, satisfied, and went back to watching his show. Headass. She was going to break up with him soon, but she just didn't have to energy to be alone again.

\---

"Is Clarke Griffin here?" It was two in the morning and cops were asking for her.

She was gathering her things and getting dressed and climbing out the window before she could even react.

She froze on the fire escape when she saw the sea of cop cars in the street. She felt honored, they were losing sleep to catch her. Aw.

She yanked her hood over her head and ran down the fire escape, trying to make as little noise as possible. Finn would be occupying them without even knowing it, feigning real concern when he didn't find her in bed. She knew she kept him around for a reason. She jumped off the last stair and dashed down the sidewalk. Hope rose in her chest when not one cop turned her way. She was going to escape.

Pain exploded in her right arm, she stumbled and was thrown off kilter. She yelped in pain and another bullet grazed her side. She pumped her legs faster. She rounded a corner and knocked some garbage cans over, hoping that they would slow the cops down. Men shouted at her to stop and surrender, she ignored them and ducked into an alley.

She swore. It was a dead end.

"Put your hands where I can see them!" A female cop shouted, gun raised. Three men were flanking her. Heart pounding, she slowly put her hands up. The cop nodded and visibly relaxed. Amateure.

Clarke made a break to the left, and kicked at the abandoned buildings door. It sprang open with ease, and she nearly cried with relief. She swerved as she ran, making it impossible for the cops to aim. She burst out onto the street and—

She was burning from the inside out, her limbs trembled and she fell to the ground. She ripped at her hair and screamed, loud and piercing. Her eyes crossed, and the asphalt came up to greet her.

\---

Her trial was set to be in a month and she couldn't run from it anymore. Especially now that she had gotten tasered. _Fucking bastards._

She pleaded guilty, there was too much evidence against her to even have a fighting chance, and the paperwork was filled out the next morning. She was going to prison for drug smuggling and dealing illegally. That oughta be a bright spot on her resume.

Finn visited her holding cell regularly, eyes rimmed red and puffy. He talked about all the things they're going to do when she gets out; sex, cuddling and more sex. She'd swooned as they spoke. Not.

"I'll wait for you, you know. I won't dick around while you're away. I promise." He said, holding her hand through the bars.

Guards had come to collect her before she could answer, thank god. She had no interest in still dating him when she got out, and she would tell him so. Soon. After he brought that box of chocolates he'd promised, obviously.

A guard prodded her. "Take off your clothes." Clarke cringed, and began to unbutton her blouse. She had never been modest by an means, but she had never been in these circumstances either. It was shudder worthy.

She stepped into the shower and washed quickly, she got thrown a towel and she dried off even quicker. She was then handed a heinous orange jumpsuit, that smelled. She was really living the life, wasn't she. She slipped it on without complaint and gave the guard a surgery smile, maybe she could get out early on good behavior.

She was taken to another holding cell, and the guard told her she'd be transferred to Ark Prison in the morning. She nodded and the guard left.

Tears welled up in her eyes and began to cry. She curled up on the floor and laid her cheek against the cool concrete, she was enormously aware of the diseases she could obtain by doing this, but that was the least of her problems. Hot tears spilled into her hair and her nose ran, great, she was ugly crying. _Fucking fantastic._

She fell asleep like that, legs pulled into the fetal position, back pressed against the wall. She gave a few good kicks to the cell door, hoping no one would jump her in the night. That happened right? God, she was so dead.

\---

Ark Prison was bigger than she expected, with two different sectors for men and women sleeping quarters. It had a large running track and a courtyard with colourful paintings dotting its walls. It was pretty, but she had a feeling that outward appearances weren't everything.

She was given a pillow and a toothbrush, and a hoodie, then she was shoved into a room with three other women.

Two of them looked like they wanted to eat her, and she tried not to fidget. They were all incredibly beautiful, all in different ways. One had long blonde hair and ivory skin, she said her name was Harper.

Clarke chose the bunk above hers.

Another had brown hair swept up into a ponytail with bronze skin and a limp. She grumbled that her name was Raven.

The last had brown hair too, except it was down and had a multitude of braids whipping around. Her eyes seemed to change colour whenever she was in a different lighting, she stuck out her hand and shook firmly.

"I'm Lexa. How'd you get here?" She had a gaze that Clarke couldn't seem to look away from, it was intimidating.

They were going to find out eventually. "Drug smuggling and illegal dealing." She said with ease, stepping away from Lexa and climbing up onto her bunk.

She slung an arm over her eyes and sighed. The bed wasn't too bad, pretty thin, but not awful.

"Are we all sharing life stories now?" Raven grumbled, heaving her bad leg onto her bed. She had a feeling all she did was grumble.

"It's not like yours is very exciting." Harper teased, laughing when Raven threw a pillow at her.

The bell beside the door let out a piercing thrill and Harper informed her that it was time for lunch. Her stomach let out a growl and she covered it with her hand in embarrassment.

The cafeteria was in the middle of the building, a five minute walk from their room. Both men and women ate there, they also did their chores and free time together. They were only separated to sleep and shower.

For lunch, there was stew. Which Clarke had to choke down, because it was so salty. There was very dry corn bread and over cooked beans. She tried to be grateful for the strength it'd give her.

They weren't allowed to leave until one, so they sat and talked. Well, Harper talked, everyone else stared at their food and listened to her babble.

When the bell rang again, she gathered her things and rushed to the trash. When she turned to leave, she crashed right into a muscled chest. Arms grabbed her waist and caught her before she fell on her ass.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She said, and looked up into the mans eyes. She took a sharp breath, he was _beautiful_.

His black hair hung in messy curls around his face, and freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. And under her hands, she definitely felt some muscle. Damn.

"Watch where you're going." He said, gruff, and released her from his grip with a jerk. He shoved past her and left her cheeks burning. How long had she been staring at him?

She took a glance around the room, and her cheeks practically caught on fire when she realized everyone was staring at her.

Raven gave her a poke and told her to get moving. She did.

\---

She didn't get into a routine so much as go throw motions. She woke up extra early, so she could have showers without prying eyes, and then did her chores.

That week it had been dishes, the next week it would be stitching up uniforms. In the afternoons she napped or explored. The prison was three stories tall and covered more ground than she could fathom, there was always something for her to discover. (She learned the man in the cafeteria was named Bellamy, and some stupid part of her hoped to see him on her walks. She never did.)

Two weeks into her sentence, Raven demanded that they go to the courtyard. They dragged Lexa and Harper along as well. The courtyard was literally a yard, with tall fences and two walls where people painted pictures.

Raven hobbled over to a picnic table and sat on top of it, stretching out her leg.

"How'd you get the limp?" Clarke asked, and immediately regretted it. Harper shifted uncomfortably and Lexa darted over to where the paints were.

She tried to backtrack. "I'm sorry I didn't mean—"

"It's fine. It's not as big a deal as everyone makes it out to be." She sighed and motioned for Clarke to sit down beside her impatiently.

"I was nineteen and in love, I thought I had everything figured out for the rest of my life. I was happy, and then my boyfriend totally ruined it all. He did it for me, of course, which is why I didn't break up with him. He—he stole a car from the richest family in our town, he figured they had so many, they wouldn't miss one. But they did." She stared out at the tree line as she talked, not moving a muscle. As if she'd told this story a lot. "They noticed the car parked in my driveway, and they sent someone after me. The guy shattered my knee cap with a mallet and it— _obviously_ didn't heal right. I took the fall for my boyfriend, his family would have disowned him if he went to prison. And I didn't have any family to disappoint." She sighed again and closed her eyes.

She didn't know what to say, what are you supposed to say? Sorry doesn't mean anything, what can you do for a person who lost everything?

"Raven, I—"

She held up a hand. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me. I've been dealing with it just fine without your pity."

Clarke smiled a little and nudged her shoulder. "I was going to say I hope that weasel with the mallet gets whatever's coming for him."

She hopped off the picnic table and went over to grab some paint. When she glanced back, Raven had a small smile gracing her features.

\---

For prison, everyone was very laid back, and she didn't outright hate anyone.

Until Echo came along.

Echo was one of those girls that acted friendly and nice, but there was bite hidden behind her words. Little digs and taunts that got under Clarkes skin and stuck.

It started when they got partnered together for dish duty.

"So, I saw what happened with Bellamy a couple days ago." Echo cringed, probably hoping to look sympathetic.

Clarke shrugged, even though her cheeks were burning again. "It was nothing, I just wasn't watching where I was going."

Echo raised her eyebrows. "Really? That's all it was?"

She gritted her teeth. "Is there something you're trying to get at? If so, spit it out already."

She knew she had made a mistake when a smile stretched across Echos face. "If you say there's nothing to it, there's nothing to it."

Clarke scowled and didn't talk for the rest of their duty. She knew Echo was just trying to get a rise out of her, and she hated how it worked every fucking time.

She would smile at her from the across the room in a jeering way, or make non subtle eyes at Bellamy if she knew she was watching. She had even started hanging out with Harper, as an excuse to be in their room and bother Clarke with just her presence.

"I hate her." She told Lexa, flopping onto her bunk and sighing. Lexa head butted her absently and continued knitting. She was a literal grandma.

She groaned. "I just can't get away from her! She's everywhere! I bet if I went to take a shit right now, she'd be right there waiting."

Lexa turned up her nose, but said nothing.

She glared. "You know, normally a conversation includes more than one person."

Lexa gave her a side glance, and heaved a giant sigh, making a show of putting down her knitting.

"Echo is a bitch, we all know that. We also all know that she's about as dumb as they come, so she never goes to the library. That is an Echo free zone."

She struggled to contain her squeal. "Thank you for enlightening me. Maybe the next conversation we have, we can braid each other's hair!"

She dashed out the door just as one of Lexas sewing needles flew past her head.

The library wasn't as big as she hoped it'd be, it was a little smaller than the courtyard. With shelves so tall she worried they'd fall over. The books were old and falling apart, pages ripped out and crumbling.

She didn't mind, there was no Echo in sight, and that's all she needed. She settled in an arm chair with a book about art history, and began to lose herself between the pages.

Or, she tried to. She barely had read one page before she felt someone else's presence in the library. She glanced up and scowled when her heart did a little jump in her chest. Traitor.

Bellamy was sitting a couple tables over, his back to her, hunched over a very large book. If she squinted she could see that it was about some sort of mythology, norse maybe? She could also see a tattoo peeking out from beneath his collar.

She quickly squashed the thought of running her fingertips over it.

 _Focus_ , she thought, turning back to her book. _Born into an upper-middle-class family, Van Gogh drew as a child and was serious, quiet and thoughtful. As a young man he worked as an art dealer, often traveling_ —

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bellamy stretch, giving her a lovely view of his stomach. She swallowed, and willed herself to look away.

 _Born into an upper-middle-class family, Van Gogh drew as a child and was serious, quiet and thoughtful. As a young man he worked as an art dealer, often traveling_ —

He began to talk to another inmate and she noticed he used his hands a lot, gesturing wildly to get his point across. She scowled and turned her eyes back to the page.

 _Born into an upper-middle-class family, Van Gogh drew as a child and was serious, quiet and thoughtful_ —

The inmate dragged her fingers across his arm, and smiled seductively.

Clarke slammed her book shut and did everything in her power not to storm out.

Did they have to make those eyes at each other in a public space? It was revolting. Like, hello! Get a room.

 _Are you jealous?_ A little voice nagged her, her steps fumbled. No, no she was not jealous. That was ridiculous. She hadn't even had a conversation with Bellamy, and the little they did talk he basically yelled at her. He wasn't hers. She just missed Finn, and sex. That was all.

She avoided the library for a few days, and decided to spend her time with Raven. She was decidedly not grumpy when tired or drunk, and Clarke managed to get a cuddle out of her now and then.

\---

Finn called her a month into her sentence, one day before he was supposed to visit. "Princess! How are you doing?"

"It's going ok, for prison." She said, trying to keep the sarcasm at low levels.

He didn't notice. "Yeah? That's good! Have you made any friends? They say that prison friends are friends for life, you know."

She twirled the cord around her finger. "My cell mates are pretty cool I guess. Raven and I have been spending a lot of time together."

Finn was silent for so long she wondered if they'd been disconnected. "Hello? Finn, you there?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah. I'm here. Yeah. Clarke, I don't think I'll be able to visit tomorrow."

Her stomach sank. "Why not?"

"Boss is having me pick up two extra shifts that I can't get out of." She could sense that he was lying, but decided to let it slide. If he didn't want to come, that was fine with her.

"Ok, I'll see you next month then."

"Ok. Bye." She hung up and headed for the library.

\---

She sat at a table this time, and opened a fiction book, hoping it would hold her attention better.

She had just gotten through the first chapter when someone sat down across from her.

Bellamy slammed his book down on the table with so much force that she jumped. He cracked his back and shoulders and neck before finally settling in. He must have noticed her expression because he gritted his teeth and growled, "What?"

She quickly shook her head. "N—nothing. Just surprised you sat here."

His eyes had no humor in them. "Where else would I sit?"

She took a quick glance around the room at the many other vacant tables but didn't say anything. She coughed. He was still looking at her.

She groaned. "Listen, I'm sorry for that day in the caf." She blurted. "I didn't mean to—"

"You already apologized for that."

She hardened her gaze. "Well, you still seem a little bitter about it, so I thought I'd clarify." He raised his eyebrows and she saw the corner of his mouth quirk up for half a second. They didn't say anything for a long beat.

"So?" She asked. "We're good?"

He looked at his book as he spoke. "We were never bad."

She bit her tongue to contain her growl.

\---

Visiting day had started and it seemed as though the only person who didn't have someone coming was Clarke. She protested by hiding in her cell all day.

Harper had a girlfriend, Lexa had a brother and Raven had her boyfriend. She wasn't bitter in the slightest.

It's not that she wanted Finn, exactly, she just wanted something familiar. Something that stopped the ache in her chest whenever she thought about the fact that she was stuck, not moving forward, while the world was still spinning without her.

Her stomach growled around three and she decided to get something from the vending machines. (They could have quarters and loonies if they traded for them.)

Visits happened in a room with lots of windows and couches and tables. The visitors weren't allowed to touch the prisoners and vice versa.

The lounge was also where the vending machines were. She saw Bellamy visiting with his girlfriend—or sister?—and smiled a little. She was glad he had someone.

"Finn?" She stopped short at the sight of Raven and Finn sitting together on the couch. The blood had drained from his face and Raven looked confused, glancing between them. "Clarke, this is my boyfriend, Finn this is my—friend." Raven said slowly.

"Boyfriend." She said, face slack.

"Clarke," Finn stood up and reached for her, and she took a step back. She kept her voice calm, like she was talking to a client. "We're not allowed to touch, and even if we were, I wouldn't want you anywhere near me."

Raven stood, too. "What's going on?"

 _She doesn't know. Finn cheated on her and she has no idea_. Her nostrils flared at the thought of Raven being taken for a fool.

"Why don't you ask your boyfriend?" She spat, crossing her arms and glaring at Finn.

Finn glanced between the two of them, clearly trying to come up with some story that would explain this. "I can explain—" He started.

But Clarke cut him off. "Explain what? How while your darling girlfriend was in prison taking the fall for you, you were out fucking with me? How are you planning to make that sound ok? Please, enlighten us, Finn."

Ravens eyebrows were raised so high they disappeared into her hairline. "Yes, Finn, please do."

She let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, she had been worried Raven would think she knew about this.

Finn yanked a hand through his hair and paced a little. "Look I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt either of you—"

Raven snorted. "Too fucking late."

His eyes went droopy. "Raven—"

She held up a hand and he was silent. "We're done. Leave."

Finn stood still, until Raven yelled at him in spanish and then he sprinted to the door. Raven turned to her and Clarke put up her hands. "I swear I had no idea you—"

Raven waved her off. "I believe you. I just can't believe he would—" she shook her head. "We've known each other for ever since I can remember, but if that doesn't mean anything to him, he's not worth anything to me."

Her smile was small. "Do you wanna go get some Cheetos?" Raven looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing and Clarke joined in, linking their arms together.

She told Lexa and Harper the entire ridiculous story, and they had stitches in their sides by the time she was finished. "How could one guy fit so much stupid into his body?" Harper gasped.

Lexa nodded emphatically, laughing so hard it was silent.

Raven flicked around her spoon. "He probably kept it all in his head, you know, instead of brains." Another burst of laughter infused.

\---

She learned that Harper was raped when she was fourteen, and she spent four years hunting down the man. When she found him, she killed him with a shotgun.

Harper played with her braid and stared at her lap. "People say that revenge won't be as satisfying as you think it'll be, but knowing that he can't do what he did to me ever again? It almost makes up for being stuck in here."

Clarke smiled sadly and took her hand, supporting her without saying a word.

She learned what Lexa did by accident.

Raven and Lexa were arguing, over what she really didn't know, and Lexa said that she would have Raven hunted down and gutted if she didn't get her dirty socks off the floor.

She wagged her cane at her. "Don't be making those jokes at me missy, I have enough nightmares as it is without adding getting chased by the mafia to the list."

Lexa stuck out her tongue just as Clarke sprang up in bed. "You were in the mafia?" She gaped.

Lexa shrugged, and she made a mental note to never piss her off.

\---

The library had become her safe place, very few inmates went there, and the few that did never bothered her. Bellamy recommended a book to her every now and then, but he was still a dick on most days.

One day, when her butt was beginning to go numb from sitting for so long, she got curious about him.

Had that been his sister visiting that day? How long had he been here? What was he here for? And what was that fucking tattoo of?

She coughed and adjusted her book, glanced at him, looked back at her book. Readjusted again. Repeat.

"Griffin, find a spot and park it." He said and she slouched, pouting her lips. He rolled his eyes.

"Do you have family?" She asked, trying to push as much casualness into her voice as she could. She thought she sounded curious, friendly. _Not_ like a weird stalker _._

He briefly met her eyes, squinting as if he was trying to decide if it was a trick question. Nerd.

Finally, he nodded. "I have a sister, Octavia." He coughed, clearly uncomfortable with talking about himself, or maybe just talking in general. He was a strange person.

He was about to say something else, but was cut off by two inmates in the corner. She strained her neck enough to see that they were making monkey faces, and pulling at the corners of their eyes. She didn't understand until she saw Bellamys jaw lock, and it clicked.

"Those bastards." She spit, already moving to get up and take a piece out of their hides.

"Hey, no. No!" Bellamy put his hand over hers and it was enough to hold her in place.

"Why haven't you done anything about this?" She couldn't stop staring at his hand on top of hers.

He didn't move. "Because I'm a brown guy and they're not. Whose side do you think is going to be taken?"

She closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sit down and listen to him. It wasn't her fight.

But she couldn't do that. If he wasn't going to stick up for himself then she would damn sure do it for him.

She opened her eyes and held his gaze. "It doesn't matter if you're brown or white or fucking yellow, you deserve to be treated like a human." She took her hand from his and stalked over to the boys.

She smiled. "That monkey thing you were doing back there? Yeah, that was really funny!" They nodded and grinned, clearly pleased with themselves. She let the smile slip off her face. "But I bet you didn't know that it was racist as fuck, right? Because if you did know that, surely you wouldn't have done it. Because—and I'm sure this is going to ring some bells—in chapter five, paragraph 3, section 17, line 34 of the guidelines and regulations of prison, it clearly states that all inmates have the right to feel safe and protected from any form of discrimination—that includes racism." She let herself enjoy the stunned look on their faces, then, "Also, did you know that disobeying these rules can add two years onto your sentence?" She grimaced, shaking her head, then smiled; bright and sunny. "Well, you guys have a nice day, now!" She waved over her shoulder and headed back to the table.

As she sat down, she saw the smallest of smiles lifting Bellamys mouth. He nudged her under the table and leaned closer. "Was any of that real?" He said, a little awe in his voice.

She nodded, then paused. "Well, I may have embellished it a tiny bit."

He shook his head, but the smile was still there.

\---

Her mother visited her eleven months into her sentence, she almost laughed at how out of place she looked.

Between her freshly pressed pant suit and array of fancy jewelry hanging from a variety of limbs, it was like she was asking to get jumped.

She sat down hesitantly, hyper aware of her frizzy curls and stained jumpsuit. "Hi, mom."

Abby looked her up and down, frown deepening until her face looked crumpled. "Oh Clarke, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you." She reached a hand across the table, but a guard yelled _no touching!_ and she jerked back.

Clarke bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh. "It's ok, I'm actually doing ok. I've even made a few friends." She attempted a smile, but she knew it didn't reach her eyes.

Abby leaned forward a little, clasping her hands. "They're criminals, Clarke. You're not like them."

She almost snorted. "Of course I am. We're all criminals. That's why we're here, to serve our time for the crimes we've committed."

Abby shook her head, and covered her mouth with her hand. Clarke began a conversation about the Jahas, who Abby adored, and tried not to grimace every time her mother said when you come back home.

Abby didn't stay for long, saying something about a charity event she couldn't miss.

Clarke decided to be nice. "Thanks for coming, mom."

Abby's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "I was happy to, honey."

When she was gone, she let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

\---

The next time she went to the library, Bellamy wasn't there, and didn't show up. She refused to feel disappointed.

She carried on with her normal routine, sulking the tiniest bit, and tried not to think about what Bellamy was off doing.

Eventually, she began to worry. What if he had been transferred? Was he mad at her and avoiding any places she could be because of it? If so, what had she done to make him angry?

It had been two weeks and she hadn't even seen him in the halls. She asked Raven about it.

She paused her carving. "Bellamy? He's in medical. Apparently he fell down the stairs, fucking idiot."

She was confused and shocked. "And no one thought to tell me about it?"

Raven rolled her eyes. "What are you, his keeper?"

She shifted uncomfortably, _I'm his friend_. But were they? They barely ever talked, and when they did it was more like sniping. He never asked her about herself, and she never pushed him to open up. But if they weren't friends, what were they?

Raven snapped her fingers in her face, brining her back from her thoughts. She crossed her arms. "It just would have been nice to know, that's all."

Raven rolled her eyes again and continued her carving, and Clarke left to find medical.

It was a very white room, with about twenty hospital beds stationed throughout the room. He was at the far end, dozing.

She wasn't allowed to visit for more than half an hour, so she couldn't waste time ogling.

She sat down beside him and he stirred slightly. "Hey." She said softly, and he opened his eyes.

"You must have really taken a tumble, huh?" She glanced over his body, his face was mottled with fading bruises, and from the way he was laying it was clear that he had broken some ribs. There was a small cut on his neck, and his lip was split.

"Yeah, I guess I'm not as graceful as I thought." He tried to sit up, but she quickly told him that he shouldn't. He settled back down.

"I would have visited sooner if I'd known." She stared at her hands.

"Don't worry, I tried not to miss you too much." He teased. She pouted. "I would punch you, but I don't think you'd be able to handle it in your state."

He chuckled and they lulled into silence, she took a deep breath.

"Bellamy, I know you didn't fall down the stairs." He looked away, fiddling with his blanket.

"You got beat up, didn't you?" He didn't say anything. She shifted closer. "Why did you lie?"

He looked at her this time, and his eyes were ferocious. "Because of you. You wouldn't listen to me the first time and now I have three broken ribs. I let a girl fight my battles for me and look how well that turned out for me. Next time?— _which there won't be_ —maybe listen to the one who has to deal with this shit all the time."

The tone of his voice scared her, what did he mean, which there won't be, he didn't want to speak to her ever again?

"Bell, I'm sorry. I only wanted to help—"

His laugh was humorless. "Well you didn't."

She was stunned, she had forgotten he had this side to him. The hostile and cruel side that made people want to run the other way, he hadn't used it on her since that very first day.

Her heart felt like it was going to fall out of her chest. "Bellamy—"

He turned away from her. "Just go."

She hesitated, then fled.

\---

She didn't go back to the library, and Echo began popping up everywhere again. Clarke was ready to strangle her.

Lexa noticed her pouting and took pity, stroking her hair. "Why don't you go back to the library?"

She sighed, "I just can't."

Lexa didn't push, but continued to stroke her hair. She sulked for nearly a week, before the next stage took over, and she got angry. Angry that she was stuck here, angry that she couldn't do anything to help Bellamy, angry that he wouldn't let her help him.

"Raven, have anyone ever—um, made racist comments to you? In here?"

Raven thought about it, and nodded. "Just little digs here and there. Latinas are so sexualized that the comments don't really faze me anymore."

Her heart sank. "I'm sorry."

The other girl shrugged. "It's ok."

But Clarke knew it wasn't.

\---

She went to a counselor the next day and asked about the guidelines around prison.

"Are you being harassed?" His voice wasn't caring, it was business.

She stared at her fingers. "No, but my friend has been. But he's afraid you won't believe him."

He sighed. "Inmates have to speak up about their own problems, they can't have someone be their mouth piece."

She furrowed her brow. "Didn't you just hear what I said?"

"Yes, but—"

The anger that she'd been trying to subdue for days roared up inside her suddenly and she abruptly stood from her chair. "I said that he's afraid you won't believe him. The system has failed to protect him so many times that he's given up, you've done that to him. What's the point in speaking up for yourself when no ones going to listen anyway? He's laying in medical, beaten up, because two racist men couldn't deal with the fact that they were told off by a girl. It's your job to protect us against discrimination, especially from other inmates." She jabbed a finger into the desk for emphasis. "So do your _fucking_ job."

The counselor sat back in his chair in surprise, and then nodded furiously. He began to shuffle his papers around and asked her a few questions, about the inmates and Bellamy. He said that there would be an announcement about this tomorrow, and she figured it was a start.

As she was about to leave, she turned back. "Can you not tell Bellamy that I, uh, came to you?"

He nodded slowly. "What did you want me to say?"

"Whatever you'd like. I don't care."

\---

Eleven months into her sentence, she was thrown into solitary confinement for something she didn't do.

"I didn't touch her stuff! She set me up! I didn't do this!" She argued as the guards dragged her to her new cell.

They shut the door as she pounded on it, demanding to be let out. Echo had claimed that Clarke had stolen a few of her items; a necklace, a book, change. And when they checked her things, they found all of the missing items stuffed under Clarke's mattress.

Punishment for stealing was two weeks in solitary confinement.

She paced for hours, trying to figure out how Echo had managed this so flawlessly. And more importantly, why? What had she done to make Echo want to take her down so badly? What did she gain from this?

She didn't want to sleep, she was too riled up, but eventually she simply collapsed from exhaustion.

Solitary confinement was awful. No one guarded her, because she was so far down in the basement she wouldn't get anywhere if she tried to escape. She got sludge for meals and her bed was a paper thin mat and a sheet. Her cell was also freezing, and she got cold sweats every night.

She had gone a week without a proper meal, and the room smelled like piss from the bucket she was given to use as a toilet.

She didn't care if it would add ten years onto her sentence; she was going to kill Echo. After she found out why they were in this feud, of course.

She wasn't aware what was happening until she felt the first hit. Her chin hit the ground and she fought to hold in her scream. Her arm was yanked from its socket as someone grabbed her and shoved her against the wall. She felt blood dribble down onto her neck. Someone hit her already tender ribs and she swore, there must have been two or three people, but it was too dark to see clearly.

She felt two sets of hands on her arms as another pair punched her repeatedly in the stomach. Her shoulder was throbbing and she was going blind from the pain in her abdomen. Her head lulled as she fought to stay conscious, someone socked her in the jaw, then her eye.

She cried out as she was thrown to the ground, and her knee made a sickening crack. She prepared herself for another blow, when suddenly someone shouted, and the perpetrators paused in their beating. She heard the distinct sound of fist hitting face, and she winced.

Someone brushed by her and ran out the door, and two more followed. Tears sprang to her eyes against her will.

Someone stopped in front of her and she tried to move away.

"Clarke..." Bellamy stooped down and pushed the hair out of her face.

Her eyes were bright with relieved tears. "Bellamy? How did you—"

He shook his head. "I'll tell you later." He paused, then shook his head again. "Can you walk?" With his help, she was able to stand, but her knee was too tender to put weight on.

He scooped her up in his arms with ease.

"Where are we going?" She mumbled, lips against his neck. She could feel his pulse, it was beating fast. He turned a corner.

"You'll see."

She frowned. "Are you going to answer any of my questions?"

He hummed. "Hard to say."

She groaned and let her head lull against his shoulder, his chest rumbled with laughter.

She hugged his neck, vaguely wondering how he was carrying her so easily. He wasn't even breathing hard. _Fucking dick who has to be good at everything,_ she thought fondly.

He stopped in a room with an oven and a refrigerator, but it wasn't the kitchen she was used to seeing.

"It's the old kitchen. This one got to be too small for the amount of prisoners they had to feed." He said as he set her down on the island.

"How do you have access to it?"

He stuck his head in a cupboard, looking for something. "I have an in with the cook."

"What? You guys bang every friday or something?"

He turned to give her a face. "Definitely not."

Nausea rushed to her stomach as she laughed and she swayed, he was there immediately, hands on her hips to keep her steady. She knew he was just helping, but she could feel her traitorous skin burn where his hands laid.

"I thought you were mad at me." She murmured, as he pressed a cold wash cloth to her face.

"I was. I still am. First, You ran me over in the caf—"

She gasped. "I did no such thing!"

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And then you took my seat in the library, and then peppered me with questions about my personal life."

She flicked his arm. "I asked you _one_ question."

He ignored her. "And—probably the worst offense—you made me like you. Truly a dick move. It's really disrupting my entire heartless asshole with no feelings persona that I have going. Then, even after I pushed you away and told you I didn't want to see you again, you continued to fight for what you believed I deserved."

 _You made me like you. You made me like you. You made me like you._ She frowned. "I didn't do anything to help—"

He cocked a disbelieving brow. "Johnson is a terrible liar. I knew before he even said anything that you had something to do with it."

She looked at the floor. "It wasn't much. The guys just got transferred to a different prison and put in solitary confinement."

He tilted her chin up, making her look him in the eyes. "It's more than anyone's ever bothered to do before."

His gaze made her chest heat up, and she quickly changed the subject. "How did you know they were coming? How did you know where I was? Who was it?"

He grabbed an ice pack from who knows where, and held it to her lip. She tried to hold it herself, but he swatted her hand away. "Echo was the one who framed you, right?"

She nodded. "Well, we used to—um, when I first got here, she was really nice to me and we started—you know, but she thought it was something more than that. I broke it off and clearly, she's still bitter."

She cocked her head, not understanding. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Clarke. We spend almost all of our free time together. She's jealous."

"Oh. _Oh_. Well, she really needs to get over that then." He snorted.

She kicked him. "Answer my other questions. How did you know she was gonna jump me tonight?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "I knew she was full of bullshit when she said you stole her stuff, so I asked her what her plan was."

"And she just told you?" She said, incredulous.

He smirked. "I can be very convincing when I want to."

She bit her lip as she watched him clean up. "Ok, last question."

He leaned against the sink across from her and crossed his arms. "Hit me."

She held his gaze. "Why are you helping me? You could get in really big trouble for this."

He took a deep breath. "Two reasons. One, I feel obligated to, because of what you've done for me. And it would rude to just let you do things for me without ever paying you back—"

She shook her head furiously. "I don't expect anything in return—"

He waved her off. "I know. But I still feel like I need to." She nodded, even though she disagreed.

There was a beat, and "What's the second reason?"

He slowly met her eyes, and closed the distant between them. He put his hands on the counter, on either side of her hips, caging her in. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, and she did her best not to squirm.

Without her consent, her eyes traveled down his face and rested on his lips. She really needed to get a grip.

She yanked her eyes back up to his when he began to speak. "The second reason is..." He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers, letting his eyelids drift shut. His voice was a whisper. "The thought of anyone laying a hand on you makes me sick to my stomach."

Her heart twinged and her breath caught. She chose to forego thinking about the fact that his mouth was a breath away, and instead carefully let her arms drape across his shoulders, holding him to her.

She bumped her nose against his. "Thank you."

She felt him grin, then he tensed He pulled away, but didn't take her arms off him. "We have to get you back to your cell."

She nodded and pulled her arms into herself, he picked her up as he had before and made the short walk back.

He set her down on her mat, handed her the ice pack and told her to keep it on her eye throughout the night.

"Ok, mom." She teased, and he pinched her arm.

"Bellamy?" She called, just as he was about to close the door.

He turned back. "Yes?"

She fiddled with the ice pack. "Thanks. Really."

He smirked. "You said that already."

She flipped off his back as he jogged down the hall.

\---

Echo was no where to be seen when she was allowed to go back to her normal cell, and Raven filled her in.

"Cameras caught her leaving her cell on the night of your attack, and they found traces of her DNA in your cell. Someone tipped them off." Her face said that she knew who that someone was.

She flopped onto her bed and grinned. "How helpful of them."

\---

She kicked him under the table. "Favourite movie."

He kicked her back. "That's like asking you what your favourite dessert is."

She groaned. "There's just so many to love! How can i possible pick one?"

He hid his smile behind his book, but he wasn't fooling anyone. She leaned on the table, feigning seriousness.

"Fine. Favourite childhood memory."

He tapped his jaw, thinking, then his eyes lit up and he leaned forward too. "There was this one time, mom had gotten a pretty decent job, and she was in between boyfriends, so we were all a little bit happier. She had enough money to buy us a board game, Octavia wasn't very old—three? Maybe?—so she couldn't enjoy it that much. But I loved it to pieces, it was history trivia, and I kicked _ass_. Thank you very much." He flicked his page and smiled at nothing in particular.

"All I'm hearing is that you were just as big a nerd then as you are now."

He nodded, thoughtful, and they lulled into silence. They hadn't talked about the night in the kitchen, he had been mushy, caught up in adrenaline, and she just didn't know how to talk about it. She also really didn't want to start a relationship in prison, it wasn't her style somehow.

But, god, did she like him. She wanted it to become something eventually, she hoped he'd wait that long.

The silence had stretched, and she felt courageous enough to ask him the question that'd been burning a hole in her brain. "What did you do to get here?"

He didn't look up or meet her gaze. And she figured he was just going to pretend he hadn't heard—

"O's dad had a lot of people who hated him, a lot of people who wanted him dead. He gambled, and had more debts than he could count. One day, two men came into the house, screaming about the money who owed them. I hid O and mom in the closet and told them to keep quiet, then I went out to calm everyone down." He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. She listened intently, trying to understand where he was going with this. "I remember the gun. I remember trying to get it to stop going off, but there wasn't anything I could do. The next thing I knew, O's dad was dead with four bullet holes in his chest and the guys were gone. The gun was left in my hand."

She sat back, stunned. "You—you killed him?"

"That's what the reports say."

She frowned. "But why—"

He slammed his book closed. "You wanted to hear the story, I told it to you. Sorry it wasn't as thrilling as you thought it'd be." He angrily shot from his chair and stalked out.

She had dealt with Bellamys mood swings before, she knew he just needed to cool off. He needed to be left alone. But she was done waiting and watching and tip toeing. She ran after him.

"Hey. Hey! Bellamy!" She caught up to him, but he didn't stop walking.

"Would you just listen? Stop!" She grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn and look at her. His eyes were cold, but she could see the hurt there too. What had set him off?

She put her hands on her hips. "What's going on?"

He pursed his lips. "Nothing."

"Can we not do the thing where you pretend we're not friends and you're a total dick? I'm not in the mood."

He didn't say anything, so she stepped closer. "Just— _talk to me._ "

He scuffed his foot against the ground and didn't meet her eyes. "It's not—" he scrubbed his face. "—I can't tell you. Even if I wanted to, I just can't."

She reached out to him, but he ducked away and started to walk off down the hall. She let him go.

\---

She sensed a shift in their relationship; awkward silences ensued more often, she felt like she had to be extra careful about what she said around him, any normality they had was gone and she didn't know how to get it back.

Raven petted her hair. "Let's just become lesbians."

She paused, it certainly wasn't the worst idea in the world. "I don't think it works like that. Boys may suck absolute ass, but unfortunately they're really pretty. Plus, cutting out boys narrows my dating pool way down. I love girls, but it's nice to have variety."

Raven lazily moved her eyes into focus again. "Sorry, were you talking? I stopped paying attention after you told me I was wrong."

Clarke pinched her.

Lexa narrowed her eyes at them, then shrugged and plopped her head into Ravens lap, too. "I want my hair played with."

Raven obliged, then squinted. "Lexa, you're a lesbian. What's that like?"

Lexa squinted too. "Sexually? More than satisfying. Other areas? Could use some work."

Clarke sighed. "The grass is always greener on the other side."

"Yeah." Lexa and Raven chorused.

\---

Harpers sentence ended the next week, and Clarke hugged her goodbye, telling her to keep in touch. Raven thumped her on the back and Lexa patted her awkwardly. Both of them were terrible with goodbyes.

A new inmate is put in Harpers spot two days later. Emori had a giant tattoo on her face, and told the dirtiest jokes. Clarke instantly liked her.

"You like everyone!" Raven accused, wagging her cane in her face.

She shrugged. "I'm a people person. Not everyone's a grump like you two."

Lexa and Raven began to protest, but neither of their hearts were really in it. They were quite proud of their grumpiness.

The lunch bell rang, and Clarke told Emori the rules surrounding lunch. "We have to stay in the caf for an hour, who knows why, and—" She cut herself off when she saw Bellamy, and she smiled and waved.

She opened her mouth to talk again, but nothing came out. "What were we talking about again?" She laughed.

Emori shook her head. "I've heard enough about rules. I want to hear the story behind that." She not-so-subtlety pointed to Bellamy.

Clarke furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

Emori raised her eyebrows. "Are you kidding? You practically went gaga when you saw him. Spill."

She gaped. "I did not go _gaga_. What even is that?"

She elbowed her as they sat down at the table. "Don't distract me. I want gossip and I want it now."

Clarke shoveled her food into her mouth. "Well then you'll have to go to someone else, because there is no gossip here." _Move along, folks._

Emori smirked. "I'll just get Raven to dish about it. She seems the type."

Clarke frowned. "Hey, that's not—"

The other girl shook her head, unfazed. "I don't mean it in a bad way."

She slumped in her chair, her good mood wearing thin. "We're just friends. Trust me."

Emori eyed her, but didn't argue.

\---

She kissed Lexa on a particularly lonely day. Lexa kissed her back.

Clarke pulled away with a jerk. "What about Costia?"

Lexas eyes turned sad. "I couldn't keep making her wait to live her life."

She paused, then pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Lexa rested her head on her shoulder. "Me too."

\---

Raven froze when she told her. "You—you kissed Lexa? Why?"

Clarke furrowed her brow. "Just—I don't know! I didn't think it would be a big deal!"

Raven scowled. "Don't worry. It's not." And she stomped out the door.

She screamed in frustration and sat on the bed. _Is there one friendship that I won't fuck up?_

She waited for Raven to come back, she resolved to demand that they talk about it. But Raven ignored her completely and climbed into bed. Her breathing went even in minutes.

\---

Emori kicked her. "You liar."

Clarke squinted up at her in the sunlight. She was trying to calm herself by painting in the courtyard, she was only succeeding in thinking herself into a panic attack. "I don't know what you mean." She replied honestly.

Emori sat down cross legged beside her. "Raven wouldn't talk to me about you and lover boy—"

Clarke winced. "Don't call him that."

"—But Lexa happily obliged. You guys have some weird foreplay shit going on. Answer me this, is saving each other's asses a kink?"

She glowered. "We're just always at the right place at the right time I guess."

Emori flopped onto her back and lifted up her shirt so the sun could warm it. "Seems awful convenient to me."

Clarke flicked some paint at her, and it splattered across her face like a blue wave. She shrieked and smeared a pink blob on Clarkes cheek.

By the end of the afternoon, they both had an array of colours smudged from their noses to their kneecaps. Neither one of them regretted it, even after they got an extra detail for wasting paint.

\---

Eighteen months into her sentence, she smelled smoke in the middle of the night.

She jumped down from her bunk and shook the others awake. "Lexa, Lexa. Lexa! There's a fire, you have to get Raven and Emori out of here."

Her eyes went wide with realization and she instantly stood to attention. "You have to come with us."

Clarke shook her head. "I have to get others out. Make sure they get out safely, I'll be right behind you." They squeezed each other's hands once, then Clarke darted out the door.

The smoke was so thick her eyes began to water, and she pulled her shirt over her mouth so she could breathe.

"Fox! Mona! You have to get out of here." She shook the girls awake and directed them to the exit.

She went from room to room, the smoke making her eyes burn. She eventually couldn't control her cough.

She fell to to the ground, her still tender knee aching in pain. She breathed as shallowly as possible, but she was so tired.

She put her cheek to the floor, which was surprisingly cool. _I could really go for a nap right now_.

She felt flames lick at her fingers, and she knew she had to move. She couldn't just lay here. But her limbs weren't listening to her brain, and she stayed glued to the floor.

"Clarke!"

Was someone calling her name? God? Is that you?

"Clarke!"

The voice was closer, and she tried to call out, but she coughed instead.

Hands hoisted her off the floor and she was hugged to a chest. _You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,_ they whispered in her ear.

"Why do you always have to save everyone? Why couldn't you have just got out?"

She felt like she was on a boat, rocking back and forth. Or maybe she was on her back in the waves, water filling her lungs.

She coughed. "I'm trying to get out early on good behavior." Her voice was so raspy, she barely recognized it.

Bellamy's mouth smiled. His eyes didn't.

"You know what I can't figure out?" She said, leaning her head back so she could see his face. He had such a pretty face.

His fingers tightened where they rested under her knees. "You shouldn't talk."

She didn't care. "You're so. So good. You're kind and you're funny and warm. I don't get how you could just—just, _kill someone._ " She whispered the last words, hating how they sounded out loud.

He didn't speak, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, exhaustion overwhelming her.

Fresh air flooded her lungs and she gasped, nearly choking on it.

Bellamy leaned her up against a wall, keeping her upright with his weight. He pushed the hair out of her face and she noticed the troubled look in his eyes.

"What?"

He glanced around. "I didn't kill him. I didn't kill Octavia's dad. The men who came to the house did, and they pinned it on me."

She was pretty sure her eyebrows had completely flown off her face.

The corners of her mouth turned up, despite her best efforts. "Why are you telling _me_ this?"

He cupped her jaw. "I can't stand you thinking that I could do something like that."

She attempted to playfully shove his shoulder, but her arms were still so weak it was more like a slight tap. "Why do you always get so mushy after you save my life?"

He laughed, full and loud. And he caught her fingers between his own. "I'm never mushy."

She nodded sarcastically. "Oh yeah, you're a real macho man."

He did his best to frown, but his eyes gave him away. "You know what I can't understand? How you're never mushy after I save your life. It's actually kind of insulting."

She shrugged. "I guess I'm immune to your charms."

"Are you also immune to telling the truth?"

She tapped her chin in thought. "It's quite possible."

Someone cleared their throat, but they didn't jump apart.

It was a medic. "I need to take Ms. Griffin to get examined." He said.

When Bellamy didn't move, Clarke gave him a gentle push. "They're here to help. I'll be fine." He nodded even as his jaw ticked.

The medic led her to the back of an ambulance where Raven was sitting.

She approached cautiously, worried they were still in a fight. But the relieved look on her face was all the reassurance Clarke needed, and she pulled the girl into a bone crushing hug.

"You're an idiot. I hope you know that." Raven said.

Clarke laughed. "A lot of people have told me that, yes."

Raven squeezed her tighter. "I'm glad you're ok."

She tucked her chin into her shoulder. "Me too."

\---

Firefighters detected that the fire had been started by faulty wiring in the kitchen, and the worst damage was there. But the prison wasn't useable until it was cleaned up and repaired.

And another prison wasn't going to be able to take in all the inmates.

"We're going to be separated." Clarke whined from her hospital bed.

Raven flicked a piece of jello at her from across the room. "Stop it. You're gonna make the entire hospital depressed."

Lexa frowned as she sat down on Ravens bed. "Pretty sure they're already depressed."

"Well then they're going to be even more depressed." She flicked more jello in Lexas direction.

The injured inmates were being held in a designated area of the hospital. Lexa and Raven weren't _really_ injured, but the hospital staff didn't have to know that.

The truth was, Clarke wasn't that worried about being separated. But she needed to think about anything else except what Bellamy told her or she was going to go insane.

She had to help him, obviously. But what was she going to do while she was still behind bars?

She turned over all the possibilities in her head, but none of them stuck.

He was already in his new prison, in the next state over. For some reason she was trying to ignore the fact that she missed him.

\---

Her lawyer called her the next morning. "They want to offer you a deal. Community service for the next six months and you're done." Jane said, clearly ecstatic.

Clarke couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Why? Why now?"

She could practically feel Janes exasperation through the phone. "You saved lives yesterday, Griffin. They want to honor that."

"You mean they want to make an example out of me. Show the others that doing good deeds gets you places."

Jane hesitated. "Alright, yes, that too."

She didn't care why they were doing it, she was going to be free. "I'll take it. I'll take the deal."

"I'll call them right now." Jane said.

"Oh and Jane? I—a friend of mine needs you to represent them."

"Sure thing."

\---

Six months came and went and the judge was still insisting that Bellamys case staying closed.

She didn't give up. She visited Bellamy at least three times a week, squeezing every last detail out of him.

"Clarke, there's only eight years left in my sentence. You really don't even need to—"

She spoke calmly and with purpose. "If you say that to me one more time, I'm going to come through this glass and shove my fist down your throat."

His laugh was throaty, and she relished every time she heard it. "Now tell me about their faces again."

She held the phone between her shoulder and her ear, listening to him describe the men's faces for the thirtieth time, as she etched the details into her sketch book.

She held it up to him every once in a while, and he corrected her drawing accordingly.

He tapped the glass. "I really appreciate all that you're doing for me, Clarke."

She didn't look up. "Don't thank me until you're no longer sitting behind bars."

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at her fondly.

\---

She met Octavia eight months after her sentence ended. She was wild, with brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. She could see parts of Bellamy in her, like her determination and hard headedness. Clarke, of course, instantly liked her.

"Why are you doing this?" Octavia asked over coffee, getting down to business immediately. She respected that.

"Because he doesn't deserve to be punished for something he didn't do." She stirred her coffee.

Octavia eyed her. "And because you like him."

She forced herself not to blush. "That's a—minor and unimportant detail."

Octavia sat up straighter. "It's important to me. Bell deserves to be free, and he deserves to be happy. So if you ruin that—"

Clarke quickly shook her head. "I wouldn't. I won't. I swear."

The girl eyed her, then nodded. "Good."

\---

She slammed her hands down on the table in frustration. "We need some hard hitting proof. The judge isn't going swing it with your testimony alone."

Jane shifted in her seat. Bellamy ran a hand through his hair.

They all were exhausted, there were no leads, even with Bellamys cop friend, Miller, doing search after search on the faces Bellamy described.

"Bellamy, are you sure there's no way that gun can be found?" Clarke asked for the hundredth time, it would be _perfect_ evidence.

He shook his head. "I threw it out. It's gone."

She hit the table again and began to pace. She had to think of something. She had to.

\---

Octavia visited her at her apartment a year after her sentence ended.

Octavia wrung her hands nervously. "I have to tell you something."

She had never seen Octavia nervous, and it was throwing her off. She nodded and moved aside to let her in.

She had bought the apartment shortly after she was let out of prison, her mom had lended her the money so she could get back on her feet; the right way. The apartment was fairly large, a commercial kitchen with white and grey accents, the living room had a gigantic L shaped black couch and a huge tv mounted on the tv. There was a studio where she painted and her room down the hall, and a bathroom across from that. Octavia was obviously impressed by it.

"What did you want to tell me?" Clarke prompted, gesturing for her to sit on the couch.

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the art on the walls and Clarke's sketches splayed out on the table.

She touched Octavia's hand gently. "Octavia? Is everything ok?"

Tears filled her eyes suddenly, and Clarke sat back as she began to gasp out an explanation. "I didn't know it would be important, I—I swear. I thought we could use the extra cash and—and—" a sob broke her sentence and she curled into herself.

Clarke touched her back hesitantly, and hoped it would be comforting. "Octavia, take a breath. What did you do?"

She stared at her hands, and swallowed. "Bellamy told you that he threw the gun away, but that's not really true. He did get rid of it, but I got it back, and I—I sold it."

Clarke took a sharp breath. "Bellamy lied to me?"

Octavia quickly shook her head. "No, no. He doesn't know. And he can't, I can't—I can't be the reason he might not get free, Clarke. I can't."

Clarke sat back. If they had that gun, they'd be able to get some trace of fingerprints from the men and track them down. If they had that gun, everything would be so simple. Everything would be so fast. Bellamy would be out in a matter of days. _But we don't have that because of her._

"Clarke, please." She felt laughter bubble up at the familiarity of that sentence, what she would have said in reply three years ago. Dammit she'd gotten soft.

She sighed. "I won't tell him." Octavia smiled tearfully and thanked her, squeezing her arm.

She thanked her repeatedly until she got to the door, and Clarke had to physically push her out.

She sagged against the door and pulled out her phone. She dialed and waited for him to answer.

He picked up on the third ring. "Monty? Are you still any good at hacking?"


	2. Clarke

Clarke had met Monty in high school, and they bonded over their sexuality and strong desire to use sarcasm as a defense. Apparently, that's the key to a strong and long friendship.

He promised to do everything he could to find out who bought the gun. Octavia said she sold the gun on eBay, (Fucking _eBay_! Who does that?), so it wouldn't be terribly hard to trace.

It was still proving to be difficult.

First, to Clarkes horror, a lot of people sold guns on eBay. Many of them similar to the gun they were looking for. She decided her next project was going to ban guns from the world completely.

\---

She could tell Bellamy was beginning to lose hope, saw it in his slouch and the bags under his eyes. She tried to reassure him, saying they hadn't worked every angle yet. And he did his best to seem soothed, but the tension never left his shoulders.

\---

It was Raven who found the footage, finally some evidence they could work with.

"Bellamy, do you recognize them?" Raven pointed to the blurry screen and he hunched over it. Clarke put a hand on Ravens shoulder, silently thanking her.

The video was of four men, walking down Bellamys old street.

Bellamy sighed. "It's too fuzzy. Monty? Is there a way you can clean it up a little?"

Monty nodded enthusiastically, and began to download the recording onto his computer.

She touched Bellamys arm briefly. "This is really good, you know that, right?"

His smile was small, but it still made her heart jump.

\---

She burst into the room, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. "We got it!" She said, slapping the contract down on the table.

Everyone jumped up, waiting for her to explain. Even Bellamy seemed optimistic.

"The judge agreed to a retrial!" She squealed.

The whole mood in the room shifted, everyone whooped and grabbed at each other, screaming and hugging. Lexa spun Raven around, and Miller smacked a loud kiss on Monty's cheek.

Bellamy came up beside her, face split into a giant grin. "Yeah?"

She nodded, and threw herself into his arms, burying her face into his neck. He staggered back, then slowly, his arms wrapped around her too.

It felt like a new beginning.

\---

Clarke insisted that Bellamy should be able to go home, and she was caught off guard when the judge agreed.

"If you say he's innocent, he shouldn't have to spend his time in prison like a criminal." The judge said, like it was obvious.

Clarke managed to keep the smile tugging the corners of her mouth at bay. "Thank you, your honor."

Octavia was ecstatic, going on and on about how Bellamy had to meet her boyfriend, Lincoln. Which turned into an argument, because she hadn't mentioned she _had_ a boyfriend before. Clarke left them to it.

\---

She invited him over for dinner, to go over their strategy, obviously.

Except, she couldn't cook to save her life, so she took him out a nice restaurant.

"Wow," Bellamy awed. "This place is fancy. You really didn't have to—"

Clarke rolled her eyes, it was becoming a habit. "I wanted to, Bellamy." She sing-songed.

He smiled and ducked his head.

If she was being honest, she found his constant worrying endearing in a way. But she also felt a twinge of sadness, because he was always feeling as if he didn't deserve to be treated well. Maybe she felt a little angry, too.

They sat down at a table and she smoothed out her dress. It was a light pink, with a plunging neck line that made Bellamys eyes bulge. It cut off at the knee and swooshed when she walked.

She studied Bellamys suit, it was simple, and he looked fucking sexy in it. (She wondered if he felt that way.) He had had his hair gelled, but she quickly chastised him and mussed with it until his curls were back. He didn't seem to mind.

"Are you going to continue to stare at me or are you going to look at the menu?"

She jumped a little, and her face burned. She opened her menu to hide her expression. "I wasn't staring." She mumbled.

His tone wasn't as teasing as she expected it to be. "I never said I didn't like it."

She pulled the menu down to see he wasn't looking at his. She opened her mouth to reply—

"Oh my god! Are you Bellamy Blake?" A high pitched voice squeaked.

They both looked beside them to see a trio of girls clasping their hands expectantly.

Bellamy gave her the side eye and turned to talk to them. "Depends who's asking."

They all visibly swooned, and Clarke had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Were teenage girls really attracted to alleged criminals now? _How original_.

The small blonde to the left piped up. "We saw your picture in the paper and we just thought you were _so hot_. We had to come over and see you in person."

Clarke scowled, but Bellamy seemed pleased. "And does the real thing live up to your expectations?"

The blonde bobbed her head furiously. "Maybe even _passed_ them."

Bellamy let out a surprised chuckle and teased them for a little while longer until they were pink with pleasure. Clarke was pink with annoyance.

She loudly cleared her throat. "Looks like our food is here." _Run along, now._

The girls glowered at her, then beamed at Bellamy and skipped off. She mimicked their faces while she dug into her pasta.

She felt his gaze on her. She said flatly, "What."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "You're jealous."

She gave him a dirty look. " _No_ , I was just hungry." _Do not blush, do not blush._

He threw his head back in laughter that surprised her, and her scowl deepened. _He's wearing a nice suit, do not throw pasta at him. Do not throw pasta at him._

"What are you laughing at?"

He shook his head. "It's just so funny to see your feathers get ruffled. You're normally so calm and collected."

Was he _mocking_ her? "I am calm! My feathers are not ruffled! I don't even have feathers!" She stabbed her pasta, getting ready to aim—

"Bellamy! _Bellamy!_ Bellamy Blake!"

Lights flashed all around them, and she blinked, not knowing what was happening. Until Bellamy was out of his seat and grabbing her arm, tugging her out the back door.

He pulled her along the sidewalk, gripping her arm so tight she was sure it would leave a mark. She tripped over her high heels and stumbled, he didn't stop.

"Bellamy," He didn't stop.

She scurried around a garbage can in the middle of the walkway. "Bellamy."

She spoke quietly. "Bell, you're hurting me."

His fingers immediately sprang apart and he stopped walking. He stepped away from her and yanked at his hair, groaning.

She touched his arm, then ran her hand down to his when he didn't pull away. Clasping their fingers, she said, "It's ok. We were just having dinner, no one will think we're together or—"

His eyes locked with hers. "That's not what I'm worried about."

She ignored her bruised ego, and guided him the few steps it was to her car. She gently pushed him until he was leaning against it. She didn't let go of his hand. "What is it then?"

He sighed, and ran his free hand over his face. "It's just— _fuck_ , every time I think things are going to be ok, something comes along and ruins it. I'm sick of constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop."

She wanted to comfort him, but she had no idea what to say. Of course there was going to be hardships along the way, of course things weren't going to go smooth, and he knew that. So what was she supposed to tell him?

She opened her mouth to speak, but he got there first. "Can we just—"

Cameras began flashing around them again, and Bellamy hissed, pushing himself off the car.

" _Fuck out of here!_ " He screamed, then lunged at one of the paparazzi. He knocked the camera from his hands and his nose from its usual position.

"Bellamy!" She screeched, yanking on his arm. "Stop! You're going to get yourself thrown in jail! Again!"

He had the man by his collar, and she could see the blood draining from the mans face.

Bellamy growled. "Print those photos? And you'll have a lot more to worry about than a broken nose."

He released him with a jerk and he fell, scurrying to get away.

Clarke jerked on Bellamys hand until he stopped glaring, and she shoved him into the car.

She looked to the small crowd of paparazzi. "I'll buy those photos from you. Please." They all nodded quickly and hurried to delete the pictures.

She thanked them for understanding, forcing a smile on her face. They left, and she did everything but stomp to her side of the car. She opened the door, got in, and slammed it. She started the car and headed for home.

The anger had drained from Bellamy, and she could see he was going to try and apologize, but she wasn't in the mood. He turned towards her and opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. "Don't."

His face fell. "Clarke—"

She glared as hard as she could. " _I said, don't._ "

He sank against the door, and didn't try to talk again.

He glanced up when she flew past the street to Octavia's house, and gave her a questioning look. She didn't offer up her reasoning.

She parked the car in front of her apartment and got out, not looking back to see if he was following.

She immediately went to her room to change, chucking the dress into a dark corner. She pulled on some sweats and a white tee, then threw her hair up in a bun.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she put her hand over it, taking a few deep breaths. Finally composed, she ventured out to the living room where Bellamy was pacing. _That's right, be nervous you fuck._

He whipped his head up when he noticed she was there. "Clarke, I'm—"

She talked over top of him, but didn't look him in the eye. "I know how hard this is for you, being free. You're not used to it, people seeing every move you make."

He shook his head. "That's not—"

But she wasn't finished. "And I know that this—" she pointed between the two of them. "—is also hard for you. Letting someone in, it's not easy, I get that. But don't you see that I'm trying to _help_ you? I am doing everything in my power to get your case reopened and to fight for you. I know that people have screwed you up and screwed you over but haven't I proved myself by now? If you want me to back off, fine, I will. You can go back to prison for something you didn't do and have racists assholes breathe down your neck and eat shitty fucking food and—" She took a breath. She was getting off track. "—you could do all that. But I don't want you to. I want to help, and for me to do that you have to keep your fucking shit together. You just have to." She wrapped her arms around herself and hugged her torso.

She didn't notice he had moved until he was right in front of her, tilting her chin up. "Clarke, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—to go off like that. I never wanted to screw anything up and ruin the work you've put in to help me. I just—" He closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against hers. She sighed, feeling the anger flow out of her. His voice was rough when he spoke again, "I want you to know, you've proven yourself. More times than I can count, ok? _I trust you._ "

She let out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He responded immediately, enveloping her and pulling her against him. He tucked his face against her neck, and she relaxed into him.

"I forgive you." She whispered.

His only response was holding her tighter.

\---

Monty squealed from his corner of the room and everyone looked at him questioningly.

"What is it?" Clarke asked, stacking the papers she'd been scanning.

He danced his way over to her, and shoved the computer in her face. She took it from him and looked at the screen, then gasped.

She jumped up and hugged him, spinning around in a circle.

"Hello?" Raven said. "The rest of us would like to be dancing too?" She pointed a finger at Lexa. "Don't say it."

Lexa grinned. "You can't dance."

Raven huffed, exasperated. "What did I _just_ say."

Monty stepped away from Clarke and picked up the computer, looking pleased with himself. "I found who bought the gun." He said triumphantly.

Bellamy furrowed his brow. "Bought what gun?"

Octavia widened her eyes at Clarke, but she ignored her. "Octavia sold the gun that killed her father, she thought it could make some easy cash for you."

Bellamys jaw dropped. "And why didn't I know about this?"

Clarke sighed. "She begged me not to tell you."

Bellamy opened and closed his mouth a few times, before giving up. He crossed his arms. "Well, tell us who bought it."

Clarke squinted at the screen. "William Shumway." She didn't recognize it.

But apparently Bellamy did, he nearly tripped in his haste to grab the computer from Monty.

"What? What is it?" She asked.

Bellamy looked at her with a gleam in his eyes. "Shumway is the one who shot Derek."

Clarke's grin was venomous. "The idiot bought his gun back."

\---

"Of course I'm coming." Bellamy said, slinging on his jacket.

She put a hand to his chest. "Did you know that you age very well?"

Raven pushed between them to grab a charger off the table. "And by well, she means not at all."

Clarke nodded. "Exactly."

Bellamys face showed no comprehension. "What."

Miller huffed. "If you come with us to find Shumway, he'll recognize you. You'll blow our cover."

Realization donned on Bellamys face and Clarke patted his chest. "There it is."

He pouted and crossed his arms. "That's not fair. I want to get the bad guy too."

Miller patted his cheek as he passed. "Maybe next time, boo." Bellamy scowled.

"Don't worry, we'll do all the heavy lifting, sure." Lexa said with a straight face as she made her way out the door. Clarke stifled a laugh.

Bellamy grabbed her hand as she was about to step out. "Be careful."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I will. Don't worry too much."

He smiled. "I can't promise anything."

On impulse, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and grinned when his jaw goes slack. She darted out the door before he could notice the pink dusting her cheeks.

Clarke, Raven and Lexa sat in the backseat of Millers car, with Miller driving and Monty riding shotgun.

Clarke noticed how Raven rested her hand on Lexas knee, and how Lexa didn't stab her. Lexa allowing human contact without reason?  _Thats new._

"What is the plan exactly?" Clarke asked, filing away this information for later.

Miller looked at her in the rear view mirror. "Go in, arrest him, get gun."

She nodded. "Sounds totally promising." He flipped her off.

Monty glanced back at her. "We just have to stay behind Nate, and act as if we're real police. Oh my god, I might throw up."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Try to do it out the window."

Miller snorted.

They parked a couple streets away from the target, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She watched Raven check out Lexas ass as they walked to Shumways house.

She knocked her shoulder against hers. "Nice view?"

Raven startled, and failed to school her features into something innocent. "No. Well, yes. I mean—no." She cursed.

Clarke grinned. "Tell me something, that day I told you I kissed Lexa and you were so upset, is that why? Because you liked her?"

Raven flushed and looked at the ground. "Yeah. I didn't really—I didn't _know_ that was why. At first I thought I was mad because you had moved on from Finn so quickly, but I guess I was the one who moved on fast." She smiled a little.

Clarke elbowed her. "I think you guys are really good together."

Raven looked at her. "Yeah?" She looked back at Lexa and grinned. "I think so, too."

Clarke fake gagged, and Raven shoved her.

\---

Two years after her sentence ended, she was shot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine not leaving kudos


	3. Bellamy

_She's fine, she's fine, she's fine_. He repeated it like a mantra until they were the only words left in his brain. He had to believe it or else—he couldn't even think about what he'd do if she wasn't ok.

They hadn't been gone very long when Miller called him, sounding desperate, talking so fast he could barely make out what he was saying. But he heard the important words; _Clarke, hurt, gun, hospital._

He bolted out the door as fast as his legs would carry him.

Miller was pacing in the waiting room when he got there.

Tears formed in his best friends eyes when he saw Bellamy. "It should have been me, Bellamy, it should have been me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He gasped out the words over and over again.

Bellamy shook his head and grabbed Miller, foregoing their unspoken rule about physical affection, and pulled him into a hug. He returned it without hesitation.

He spoke softly. "You and I both know that it should have been me. Don't beat yourself up about this, it wasn't your fault."

Miller nodded against his shoulder, then pulled away, wiping his eyes.

"I've seen more than enough blood in my career, but _fuck_ , it's so different when it's someone you know."

Bellamy nodded and guided them over to some chairs. "Tell me what happened."

Miller took a deep breath. "We were just about to go through the front door, when someone crashed through the window and booked it down the street. It was Shumway, and Clarke took off after him. She tackled him, and we all thought we had him, we thought it was over. Until we heard the gun shot. S—She fell over, and he got away." He dug his fingers into his thigh so hard his knuckles turned white.

Bellamys heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would break through his ribs. He swallowed. "Is she in surgery?"

Miller nodded. "They said they don't know how long it will take."

He nodded and sat back, trying to keep his breathing regular. _She's fine, she's fine, she's fine._

"We have the gun though. Because of Clarke." Miller said, sad awe in his voice.

Raven and Lexa sat with them after they had finished getting some coffee. Raven silently took his hand, and he gave her a incredulous look.

She scowled at him. "I'm trying to be comforting, the least you can do is act like I'm doing a good job."

Raven was the type to hide her grief with assertiveness, and he was tempted to call her out on it, but she'd just start yelling at him in spanish if he did. Instead, he smiled and squeezed her hand.

\---

He'd had the nightmare before, too many times to count in fact. The gun in his hand, his finger pulling the trigger, him taking someone's life. (After 12 years of being told you murdered someone and being punished for it, it fucks with your head.)

But Clarke had never made an appearance, and he thrashed around in bed, forcing himself to wake. Even with his eyes open, the dream replayed in his mind. Clarke, switching between asking to be killed and begging for mercy. He shot her, again and again and again. He ran in the opposite direction, but somehow the bullets still found her body.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the images away. _You didn't kill anyone, Clarke is in the hospital because of Shumway. He's the reason your life is shitty._ But even as he repeated the words over again, he knew he blamed himself for anything that happened to Clarke.

He shook his head, and threw off the covers. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep, and he didn't really want to.

He wandered, not many places were open, given that it was three in the morning. But there was a bookshop that was open at all hours, and his legs took him there.

The hospital wasn't on his route, but he ended up there anyway.

The front desk stopped him. "I'm sorry, sir, visiting hours are over. Are you the boyfriend?"

Something lurched in his chest, and he slowly shook his head.

"Then I'm sorry, feel free to wait in the designated waiting area. Visiting hours begin at eight."

He nodded, and dragged himself to the waiting room.

He didn't know when he started loving Clarke. When his heart began jumping wildly in his chest after she walked into a room, when a blush crept over his features if she brushed against him, when he began looking forward to bickering with her. He didn't know how any of these things had become normal for him, didn't know why with her he couldn't just shove them all down and ignore it until they went away on their own, didn't know why he didn't want to do that. But, if he could pinpoint a moment when he started looking at her differently, it'd be the way his heart stuttered when he found out what Echo had been planning. And it simply snowballed from there.

 _And now she might not wake up._ The thought formed before he could push it away, and the realization hit him so hard he might as well been thrown into a wall.

He gasped for air, needing the squeezing in his chest to cease. He clenched his fists so hard he drew blood, his heart pounded so loud that he could hear it and feel it in every part of him. _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke._

Someone was kneeling beside him, telling him to breathe, he needed to breathe. But he couldn't. Why should he be able to breathe and be fine when Clarke wouldn't be able to sketch again? When she wouldn't be able to try as many deserts as her heart desired? When she wouldn't be able to travel the world and fix things with her mom and fall in love? When he wouldn't be able to tell her he wanted all of that for her?

It was too much, it was his fault, he caused this, he was the reason Clarke was dying in a hospital bed with no one to hold her hand.

Someone grabbed both his hands, and ducked their head to catch his eyes.

"Bellamy," Lexa said. "It is not your fault. Look at me, it's not your fault. Take a deep breath—"

He shook his head furiously and hiccuped. "I—I can't. Clarke, Clarke, she—she—"

Lexa abandoned her position on the floor for the chair next to him, and wrapped her arms around him, speaking softly. "Clarke is still alive. She isn't gone, you did not kill her. It wasn't your fault. Clarke is still here."

Bellamy let himself sag against her chest, let her rub his arm and soothe him with her words. _She's still alive. It's not your fault. She's going to wake up._

When his breath came out evenly, he pulled back even though he didn't want to. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

Lexa pulled him back to her chest. "There's no need to apologize." She didn't say it as though he was crazy or irrational.

He took her hand. "Thank you."

She squeezed. "You should come home with me and get some rest."

He pulled back to see if she was kidding, and saw only sincerity in her eyes. "You don't have to—"

She squeezed his hand harder. " _You should come home with me and get some rest_."

It got a laugh out of him and she pulled him to his feet, somehow putting her arm around his shoulders even though she was shorter than him.

She told him stories about her days in the mafia, every one more exaggerated and animated than the last. He told her about his days in the navy, how he had to lie about his age to be able to serve.

They fall asleep in a pile of blankets on the floor, braids in both their hair and FRIENDS still playing quietly.

He was suddenly very thankful that Lexa existed, and he drifted off with a small smile on his face.

\---

Clarke wasn't awake for his first trial. They showed the camera footage, the fingerprints on the gun, they gave the court a new suspect. A few of the jury even looked him in the eye, which he'd heard was a good thing.

She wasn't awake for his second trial either, where they used her shooting to prove that Shumway was capable of such a thing.

He cried when he got home, ugly and sobbing. He _missed_ her. Who cared if he was going to be free if he couldn't celebrate it with her?

He visited her everyday, talked to her, trying to stimulate her brain  like the doctors said to. Her eyes never fluttered, her grip on his hand never tightened.

He brought her hand to his lips. "I'm not giving up on you. You're going to make it out of this."

Someone cleared their throat, and he sighed, letting her hand rest back by her side. He turned to see Harper standing in the doorway.

"Harper! Hey." He stood and she walked to him, they hugged briefly.

She glanced at Clarke. "How is she?"

He ran his fingers over the wound in her side, wishing she'd wake up and slap his hand away, telling him to stop worrying. "She lost a lot of blood, and her heart stopped during surgery. But they're hopeful."

She nodded, wearing a watery smile.

He gave her arm a squeeze, then left her to have a moment alone.

His heart beat faster in his chest when he thought about all the people that cared about Clarke, all the people she had to come back to. She had to come back.

\---

He came in just as Bellamy was about to leave. Shaggy and greasy brown hair, bags under his eyes. Bellamy gave him a once over, and crossed his arms, giving him an intimidating look.

It worked, because the guy shyed a little. "I'm an old friend of Clarkes, is it ok if I speak to her for a moment?"

He considered pointing out that the conversation wouldn't be very invigorating, given that she was _unconscious_ , but he nodded instead and stepped out of the room.

He stayed right outside the door, in case the guy was a perv who got off to unconscious women.

He heard him speaking low, but couldn't make out what he was saying. He jumped when he heard a shriek.

"Get out of my room! Bellamy! _Bellamy!_ " Clarke screamed.

He kicked open the door to find the man cowering in the corner, ducking when Clarke threw another pillow. There were three on the floor around him already.

Bellamy cracked his neck, and started toward the guy, ready to rip him a new one. He grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up from the floor. "Have you ever been in prison? No? Too bad, it builds really good pain tolerance." He taunted as he shoved him out of the room.

He swung back his arm to give pretty boy a taste—

"Bellamy!" Clarke called, her voice rising with every syllable.

He let his arm fall, and shoved the douche away, only to yank him back in by the front of his shirt. "Come here again, and I'll pretend I can't hear when she calls for your mercy." He growled.

The douche nodded furiously, scrambling to loosen Bellamys grip on his shirt. Bellamy dropped him, and he practically sprinted out the door.

He stalked back into the room and closed the door. Visiting hours be damned, Clarke was awake.

He sat down beside her and just stared for a moment, he'd forgotten how blue her eyes were.

She smiled. "Hey."

He smiled, too. "Hey, yourself. You remember anything?"

Her eyes wandered around the room. "Not much. I remember tackling someone, and there being a loud bang that really hurt my ears. And then there was a searing pain in my side, and then nothing."

His hand found hers and squeezed. "You took out Shumway, and he shot you."

She scowled. "Fucking bastard."

 _God_ , had he missed her. "Yeah, agreed. But we got the gun, and he's in custody for attempted murder."

She tilted her head. "How long have I been here?"

He took a breath. "Three weeks."

Her eyes widened. "Your trial... I missed it?"

He nodded. "The first two. The last one is in a couple of weeks."

Her scowl returned. "We're gonna get him, Bell. Swear."

He ducked his head and smiled. Then furrowed his brow. "Who was that guy? With the shaggy hair?"

Clarke sighed. "My ex. Mine and Ravens ex, actually. He cheated on her with me, I had no idea because she was in prison taking the fall for something _he did—_ " she took a breath, closing her eyes. "Yeah, anyways, he was a dick."

Bellamy glowered at nothing in particular and she poked him. "What?"

He shook his head. "You almost die, and the first person you see when you wake up is that jackass. Unbelievable."

She ran her thumb over the back of hand, and goosebumps scattered over his skin.

"S'Okay, the second thing I got to see was your grumpy face."

"I do not," he said, offended. "Have a grumpy face. I have a kind and loving face, kids love me, Clarke."

She laughed, shoving him, then winced. His face fell.

"Are you ok? What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "I'm ok, it just hurts to laugh that's all."

He looked away, guilt rushing over him like waves. He let go of her hand.

She let him, and instead touched his chin, tilting his head so his eyes meet hers. "Do _not_ blame yourself, you hear me? It was no ones fault but Shumways. And it doesn't even matter, because I'm right here. I'm alive, ok? I'm totally and completely fine."

Her fingers caressed his jaw and any words he would have said get stuck in his throat.

Her eyes flick to his lips and his tongue darted out to moisten them. She took a sharp breath.

"Bellamy," Her voice is a plea. "I—"

The door crashed open and he swore— _could they not have one goddamn minute_ —before a woman with greying hair gasped and rushed to the side of the bed.

"Mom?" Clarke squawked, trying to sit up. Bellamy quickly told her to stay put.

"Clarke, oh honey." She cried, clutching Clarkes hand.

Her gaze then wandered over to where Bellamy sat, as if just noticing he was there. Her mouth twisted in disdain. "Who are you?"

He glanced at Clarke. "I'm, uh, a friend." _Way to make it seem like you're fucking, idiot._

Clarkes mom wrinkled her nose. "Well, I'd like to have a minute alone with my daughter, thank you."

He looked at Clarke again, and the panicked look in her eyes was all he needed to stand his ground. "No disrespect, ma'am, but I'm not leaving Clarkes side."

The woman— _Abby_. That was her name—raised her eyebrows in a challenge. Bellamy raised his right back.

She seemed to accept that he wasn't taking no for an answer and backed down. "Well, alright then."

\---

Clarke insisted she was well enough to attend his trial.

"It doesn't even hurt to breath anymore! I'm practically cured." She chased him around the kitchen in her wheelchair, set on bloodying up his heels. (The doctors sent her home the day after she woke up, and strictly told her that she needed to rest. She was not taking it well.)

He sighed loudly, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. "The doctors _said_ —"

She made a guttural noise in her throat. "If you say that one more time, I will be forced to run you over with this thing."

She persuaded him eventually, which he knew she would. But he loved seeing her get riled up, and he knew how to do it so well.

She was able to walk on her own by the time the trial came along, and she refused everyone's help.

"I am not an infant. I escaped a beating and a fire, a bullet will sure as hell not stop me. Now stop babying me before I scream." She had her hands on her hips and a glint in her eye, daring them to test her.

They all backed away with their hands in the air.

He fidgeted the entire time, and Jane had to remind him twice to stop tapping his pen against the table.

When the judge came back from the recess she had called, they all stood, waiting for the verdict.

"I have seen the evidence laid out before me, and I have come to a decision."

His heart hammered in his chest, and he had to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. He thought he might faint.

The judge cleared her throat. "I find Bellamy Blake..."

It felt as though the entire room held its breath.

The judge looked him square in the eye. "Not guilty."

It was silent for a split second, then chaos erupted as his friends clambered over to hug him or slap him on the back or congratulate him. He was overwhelmed with love and hope and affection, he swore he felt his heart grow two sizes.

He was free. _Finally_.

\---

He walked Clarke home, nearly giddy with happiness. He was practically skipping.

She was happy too, smiling as she unlocked the door.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and before he could think better of it, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

She was frowning when he pulled away, and he was worried he'd overstepped or done something wrong when she slipped her fingers through his belt loops and yanked his hips towards hers.

She nosed his cheek. "You missed."

When he cocked an eyebrow at her, not understanding, she leaned forward so their mouths were breaths away from each other. "My lips are here."

She closed the distance between them and kissed him, long and slow. He groaned into her mouth and settled his hands around her waist. He walked her backwards into her apartment and slammed the door closed with his foot, then found her bed.

He laughed at her eagerness to get her shirt off. "I'm really glad you don't want to wait."

She gave him a look full of fondness and rubbed their noses together. "If I waited any longer I know I would self combust."

He laughed again and kissed her. He crowded her onto the bed and just stared. When she started to squirm under his gaze he surged down to kiss her, open mouthed and messy.

He began to kiss down her navel, and worked at the button of her jeans.

"Hey, so, you know I love you, right?" He didn't look at her.

Her hand found his chin and tilted it. "Bellamy, I love you so much my heart _might_ explode from it."

He grinned so hard his face hurt, and he gripped her hips.

Fingers grazing over her healing wound, he kissed the rest of the way down her stomach. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

\---

She was warm and solid against his chest, still breathing a little ragged.

She moved so her chin was resting on his chest so she could look at him. "You wanna know what my first thought was when I saw you?"

He kissed her nose. "Yes."

She sighed. "Wow, he's beautiful."

His face split in a grin, then he grabbed her and rolled over top of her, raining kisses all over her face until she squealed.

"You wanna know what my first thought was?" He asked, breathless.

She nodded, playing the with hair at the nape of his neck.

"Wow, she almost just fell for me."

She cackled, and shoved him, then lunged up to kiss him again.

\---

 _Baby I'm thinking it over_  
_What if the way we started made it something cursed from the start_  
 _What if it only gets colder  
Would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to mali <3


End file.
